Being Four
by mailroomorder
Summary: Being four years old is hard for Blaine. He's finally old enough to understand the world and how he fits into it. Only, he's not so happy with this new discovery. What happens when the kids in his preschool class aren't so nice and accepting, and Blaine finally realizes that he's different than most people. (FTM!Blaine).


All mistakes are my own and I own nothing...not even a refrigerator. As always, be kind, please rewind!

* * *

Being four years old is really hard for Blaine. He's old enough to have opinions about things: what he likes, what he doesn't like, how he wants to dress. It should make things easier, knowing what you like and how you want to present yourself. Except for the fact that his parents keep telling him no. Keep pushing him towards frilly dresses and pink jeans.

"Alice, sweetie, pick something out to wear to school," his mother tells him one morning after breakfast has been finished and the dishes have been cleaned. Blaine has just walked downstairs in a pair of shorts and a Spider-Man shirt.

"Mom," he exclaims in annoyance. He holds his hands out to his sides in presentation. "I _am_ dressed."

It's so obvious to him. These aren't his pajamas; he went upstairs after eating, brushed his teeth, washed his face, and meticulously picked out an outfit for school. His long hair is tied in a tight and messy bun against his head. He's been wanting to cut it forever, but his parents won't let him.

"What about the new shirt Daddy bought you?"

His mother looks up from the papers she's looking at while sitting at the kitchen counter.

"I don't want to wear it," Blaine says, thinking about the light blue blouse his father bought him. It's silly how his parents think that he'll wear a girl's shirt even if it's in a boy's color. "It's ugly," he explains. Plus, he thinks to himself, Sean told him last week that girls can't like Spider-Man and therefore he can't. Blaine wants to prove him wrong. Wants to prove he's a boy. Boys like Spider-Man. Blaine likes Spider-Man. It's because Blaine is obviously a BOY, duh.

His mom just sighs and shakes her head. Blaine shakes his, too. _Parents stink_, he thinks. They never understand the obvious stuff. He ponders the stupidity of his parents while he walks into the living room to play with his toy cars. School doesn't start for a while, but he can hear Cooper upstairs rushing around and getting ready. He's in the fifth grade now, so he gets to take the big kid bus. Blaine's stuck in a car seat getting driven to school. He cannot wait for elementary school.

A few minutes later Cooper comes barreling down the stairs. He stops in the living room to mess up Blaine's hair and shout a parting, "See ya, A-Man!" It's not a goodbye so much as a warning. When Cooper leaves to go to the bus stop Blaine knows it's time to grab his book bag and put on his shoes. He packs his toys away with a heavy sigh and heads upstairs.

* * *

Blaine's one of the last people to get to preschool. Most kids are already playing by the time he walks in, kisses his mother goodbye, and puts his backpack away. They have fifteen minutes of free time in the beginning of the day while all of the kids slowly filter in, so most kids like to get there early and play before they have to sit down and learn.

After he signs in—he's learning to write his name—he heads over to Sean. Sean's playing with Legos on the carpet, surrounded by a few other boys. He stands above them, looking down at them with a sly smile. He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it out a bit so his shirt is on display. When the boys look up Blaine goes, "See? I **LOVE** Spider-Man." He expects the boys to smile and welcome them into their club. He's been trying to play with them all year. But kids rarely do what's expected, and instead Sean just looks him in the eyes and replies apathetically, "So?"

"You said I didn't like Spider-Man. But I do." Blaine is sure that _now_ they'll understand and invite him to sit down. But they don't. Sean just stands up and tells Blaine plainly, "Girls can't like Spider-Man."

Before Blaine can respond his teacher, who is standing near them listening to the conversation, interrupts.

"Sean, why can't girls like Spider-Man?" Her voice is inquisitive, and Blaine doesn't understand what her point is. _Shouldn't she be defending me?_ he thinks.

Sean's frank words interrupt his thoughts. "Because Spider-Man is a superhero and only boys can like superheroes!"

"Well," the teacher responds, "I think girls can like superheroes, too. And there are even girl superheroes!" She walks over while talking and gives Blaine's shoulder a friendly pat. Blaine's jaw is dropped, his eyes wide open.

"Whatever," Sean replies. "She still can't like Spider-Man. Only boys can."

"**BUT I AM A BOY!"** Blaine screams. His face is red with anger. Everyone pauses and looks up from their toys to stare at him. When no one says anything, Blaine starts to fidget, tears filling his eyes. He misses the sideways glance his two teachers send to each other.

Finally, Sean breaks the silence, loud and exasperated. "Oh my god! Alice! You're not a boy! Stop saying you are!"

Blaine's tears start to flow freely. He feels so utterly embarrassed and angry and stupid. He feels like he's standing in the middle of a room screaming for help and attention, but no one ever looks up. He runs out of the classroom and down the hall to the boys' bathroom. He's never been allowed to use it, but he's always wanted to.

He goes to the end, to the handicap stall, and sits on the floor in the corner, head bowed and buried in his hands while he cries loud and heavy sobs. When his tears subside he hears scuffling. He doesn't look up until he hears his teachers frantic voice sighing, "Alice." This makes him cry more.

He refuses to leave. He refuses to get up from the floor. He refuses to talk, to hum, to open his mouth. He just sits on the floor like a rag doll, face splotchy and red, while his teacher tries to elicit a response. After fifteen minutes when Blaine has stopped crying and is just resolutely staring at the floor, refusing to move, his teacher tries to pick him up.

He doesn't _want_ to go back to the classroom. He just wants to be alone. He wants people to **UNDERSTAND**. He doesn't understand why they don't.

So he screams. And kicks. And cries. And screams some more. He's moving so violently that his teacher is forced to put him down, unable to hold him tight and stop him from kicking her. He cries louder and harder than before. He cries for longer, too. It's been almost a half an hour and Blaine can't stop. His teacher sits by his side and rubs his back. She tries to hug him, but he cries even harder and pushes himself away.

He feels sick—queasy. It comes out of nowhere, but all of a sudden his back straightens and he loses color in his face and just retches, all over himself, tears getting bigger, sobs getting deeper. It gets harder to breathe has he chokes on his own vomit, and his teacher has to grab him and pat his back hard to get him to puke some more in order to clear the pathway to his lungs.

He never makes it to the toilet.

The teacher uses her cell phone then to call the office. The Educational Director meets them in the bathroom to assess the problem before leaving to grab Blaine's extra pair of clothes that are stashed in his classroom. Blaine spends the minute quiet, lying limply against his teacher's side. He revels in the feeling of her hand massaging his forehead. When the Director returns they help clean him off with paper towels before leaving him in the stall to change. Afterwards they take Blaine to the office where he can sit in the couch, waiting for his mother to pick him up.

By the time his mother comes, Blaine still hasn't uttered a word. She gets their quickly, ditching her cart in the food store and rushing to get into her car and navigate the late morning traffic.

"Oh, baby," she exhales, hands immediately reaching for Blaine's forehead and cheeks, looking for any signs of a fever. She tries to force him to look at her, but Blaine won't—keeps his eyes downcast. "What's wrong, Alice? How are you feeling?"

Blaine doesn't answer. He wants to cry, but he's all but run out of tears. He feels empty. He doesn't feel angry anymore, or sad. He just wants to go home and sleep. When his mother keeps saying his name, asking him what's wrong, he musters up all of his energy in order to mutter out a quiet, "Tired."

His mother's eyes shine with sadness, not for herself, but for her child who she sees is in obvious pain and hurt. Because right now he's physically sick and she sees it. She can't see the hurt that's buried deep inside. Blaine wishes she saw what he looked like on the inside so that maybe they could fix him—give him medicine for that, too. He's starting to realize that maybe what he feels is wrong. No one understands, can grasp the idea, that he's trying to send to them. That he's a boy! That something went wrong when he was being made and he broke the mold and now he's here, in the wrong body, and not knowing how to change anything.

His mom takes him home and gives him a bath. He stays quiet in there. He stays quiet when she gives him chicken noodle soup and ginger ale. He stays quiet when she puts him to bed. He stays quiet when he can't fall asleep and hears his mother through his open door, talking to his father.

"She threw up at school," he overhears her saying distantly. It sounds like she's in her room across the hall. Blaine imagines her sitting on her bed with her legs dangling off the edge, toeing the carpet below her.

"Her teachers said she got into a fight with another boy—no, no. Not a physical fight. A fight over superheroes." She pauses again to let her husband speak. "James, please," she whispers harshly, and Blaine's eyes overflow with tears again. "She said she was a _boy_." Her mom lets out a wet sigh, one that Blaine interprets as disappointment, and he rolls over and goes to sleep. He doesn't want to hear anything anymore.

* * *

It's not until much later that Cooper comes home. Blaine has since then woken up, but has refused any and all offers from his mother to come down and eat or play or even watch TV. He stays in his room, laying on his bed and playing with his toys and his trucks and his superheroes. He goes into his Super Special Secret Fun Box and takes out the few comics that Cooper handed down to him. He sets them on his bed, all opened to random pages, and just looks at the pretty pictures and the masculine men saving peoples' lives. He likes Batman because Cooper says that Batman doesn't have any _actual_ super powers, that he is a normal guy. Blaine likes that because _he's_also just a normal guy and he doesn't have super powers. He knows—he's checked…several times. He stares down at the pages of Batman and wonders if he'll ever look like that.

But he has a lot of comic books and he likes all of the superheroes.

_I want to be them_, he thinks. But it's becoming all too evident to his young self that it will never happen. He gets angry and frustrated at this imposter of a thought that has so rudely entered his head and he jumps out of bed and over to his mirror. He sees himself, standing in his blue and red _boys'_ Spider-Man pajamas. He sees his face which looks fine to him. He turns to the side and sees how flat chested he is. He doesn't have boobies like Mommy, so that's a good thing. The only thing he sees right now that he _doesn't_ like is his hair. It's long and ratty, and he practically refuses to ever wear it down from his normal tight and flat bun.

He _hates_ his hair. It's _girls'_ hair. And he is _not_ a girl.

_Maybe if I didn't have girls' hair people would realize this,_ he thinks. So he slips out of his room and downstairs to the kitchen. He moves the kitchen chair to the cupboard, climbs up top, opens the cabinet, and grabs the scissors he knows are stored there.

Afterwards he sneaks back upstairs and into his room. He closes his door this time and stands in front of the mirror. He grabs the bun on the back of his head and pulls it out as far as possible with one hand, angling the scissors behind his head with the other. It's difficult, but Blaine knows it will be worth it. He is able to get a few strands off. He changes positions and starts cutting the hair from the side of his head. This is what Cooper walks in on when he quietly comes into Blaine's room.

"A-Man," he blurts out, shocked. "What are you doing?!"

Blaine's hair is chunky. Part of it has fallen out of the bun and is lying long against his shoulder. The parts that haven't been haphazardly chopped off are still lying limply in the bun. He looks like a deranged toy from _Toy Story_, but Blaine knows that the end result will be worth it.

"I'm cutting my hair off," Blaine replies steadily, as if it makes all the sense in the world. Because to him, it does. If he has boys' hair then he is _definitely_ a boy.

Cooper still looks shocked, and a bit scared. He's about to run off and get his mother, but he knows that Blaine has to have a reason for doing this, that he couldn't have had a mental breakdown or anything. He slowly approaches Blaine, who is still erratically snipping hair off.

"A," he says, hands out in front of him in surrender as he walks forward into the room. He wants to calm him down, mollify him. He knows the best way to get to Blaine is by calling him A. He's more than a bit scared as to what could happen to Blaine since his four year old hands hardly have enough fine motor skill or strength to hold a pair of kids' scissors, yet alone adult ones. "Can you put the scissors down, bud? Just for a second," he clarifies when Blaine glares at him with fear in his eyes. "I just want to talk about this."

Blaine considers this for a second, looking back and forth between his reflection and his brother, before placing the scissors down on his desk and turning towards his brother.

"What's up?" Cooper asks nervously.

Blaine just shrugs his shoulders.

"Why are you cutting your hair?" Cooper tries.

"Because only girls have long hair." It's simple, clear, concise, Blaine's reasoning.

Cooper just stares at him, face dropping, like something sad and miserable just occurred to him.

They stand there for a few moments before Blaine lets out a frustrated moan and grabs the scissors. He's about to go back to cutting his hair when Cooper interrupts.

"I can help you with that," he whispers. Blaine just nods and hands the scissors out for him.

Cooper shakes his head. "No. I have a different idea, bud. Stay right here."

Cooper leaves a confused Blaine alone in his room and sneaks into his parents' bathroom. He grabs his father's shaving kit from the top cabinet and scuffles back to Blaine's room.

"Come on," he says, nodding for Blaine to follow him. They move to Cooper's room because he has a big mirror next to an outlet. He plugs the shaver in and stands above Blaine, looking at his eyes in the mirror. "You ready, champ?"

Blaine just nods quickly, eyes widening in anticipation. The buzzing is loud and breaks the silence. It sends ticklish vibrations through Blaine's skull and he can't help but laugh and shuffle a bit.

"Don't move," Cooper warns. Blaine nods solemnly and lets Cooper finish.

When the long curly locks have all fallen off and are surrounding his feet, Blaine runs his hands through his hair. It's a short buzz cut. He feels the spikes against his hand and revels in the sensation. He can't stop looking at himself in the mirror, can't stop smiling. He _loves_ it. He looks _awesome_. There is absolutely no one will ever think he's a girl now. He is a _total _boy. He grins wide and turns around to look up at Cooper.

"You look great, Al," Cooper says, smiling sadly down at him.

"It's Blaine," he responds nonchalantly, before turning back towards the mirror and checking himself out again.

"Blaine?" Cooper asks.

"Yeah. That's my name." Blaine is still staring at himself, giving different poses to the mirror and seeing how he looks.

"How'd you get that name?"

"I like that name. It's my name. It's who I am." Blaine just rambles this out as if it's so utterly obvious. He's too busy checking himself out to notice Cooper's confusion and awe.

"How do you know that?" Cooper responds, standing still behind him.

Blaine shrugs. "I just like the name. I'm pretty sure I'm a Blaine."

"Blaine," Cooper tries it out. "Blaine," he says again. It sounds strange on his tongue at first. But when he looks back at his brother's happy and smiling reflection in the mirror he sees how perfectly it fits. "I like it," he says.

They are standing there playing with Blaine's new 'do when they hear a scream from the door.

"Oh my God! What did you do?!" their mother screams, hand covering her mouth. Blaine just smiles back at her.

"Look Mommy! Look!" He's pointing to his head.

"Cooper…" she screeches. And Cooper knows he's in a world of trouble. But when he sees his brother's smile and complete obliviousness he knows taking the fall is worth it.

"It was my fault," he says. His mother looks at him incredulously. "Alice said she wanted her hair cut—"

"She's been wanting her hair cut _forever, _Cooper!" she shrieks. "You know we told her that she couldn't!"

Cooper falters for a second. "I know," he amends. "I'm sorry." And it's so sincere. He really _is_ sorry. He's sorry that his parents won't let his brother do what he wants. He's sorry that Blaine is so weird and odd and strange. He's sorry that everything is so confusing. "I'm sorry," he repeats.

"Isn't it so cool!" Blaine exclaims, trying to convince his mother that it's _so_ cool. "Mom! Really. I love it! Don't worry. I love it!"

They stand like that for a while, the three of them, forming a triangle in Cooper's room.

* * *

Blaine goes back to school the next day. He is so extremely excited to show off his new haircut, but when he gets there he just gets made fun of. Everyone still calls him Alice. They call him a _boy wannabe_. The boys still don't want him playing with them and now the girls think he's too weird and never let him join in on their games. The only time he has a group to play in is when one of his teachers' forces the kids to let him in.

He doesn't talk a lot. Not for the rest of the year. He stops showing up to school excited. He never comes home with a smile. He still wears his jeans and boy t-shirts, though. Even if people are mean to him because of it.

He cries more and gets into more fights. He pushes kids a lot. His parents get called in for multiple conferences to discuss his severe anger and social withdrawal. He has mood swings at the drop of the hat and nobody knows what triggers them. No one but Blaine, that is. But he can never find the words to vocalize it, to explain himself. So he stays quiet unless he's angry. Then he yells and screams and kicks. Occasionally he cries.

But sometimes when he's alone with Cooper and their parents aren't around and they're playing games or rolling around in the dirt, Cooper calls him Blaine. It kind of makes it all worth it. Because if Cooper calls him Blaine then other people will one day, too. Right?


End file.
